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Monday, September 17, 2012

V5:Chapter Eight- Musical Interlude

Volume Five

Chapter Eight

Musical Interlude

In which Dodger is
entertained

After the excitement of the morning, followed by the long
walk back to the line, carting the crate full of booze, the rest of the day was
spent lazing about once more. Lelanea badgered Dodger about getting back in the
bed, despite his feeling much better than he had in days. Dodger refused to
spend another daylight hour on his back in the bed, at least not alone. He
reached an accord with her by agreeing to sit and put his feet up. Which he
planned on doing anyway, seeing as how there wasn’t much else required of him.

Lunch was a quick gulp of chicken soup. Dodger kept his eyes
on the horizon, for Feng in one direction and any more folks from town in the
other. He considered toddling the five miles into town, just to break up the
monotony of the day, but Lelanea forbade it. And after his earlier stunt, he
didn’t want to anger her further. Instead, he had Ched search the line for Boon
under the guise of fetching a few things. When the driver returned with no
news, Dodger set to worrying about the ghost, seeing as how he had nothing else
to do.

Suppertime came with the accompaniment of more chicken soup.
Dodger offered to cook a full meal, but the doc was adamant about not entering
Feng’s kitchen without the man present. That seemed a bit strange, considering
it was the doc’s train and not the Celestial’s, but Dodger wasn’t the man in
charge, so he shrugged and ate his soup and groused about being bored. All the
while, he stoked a small flame of worry for the missing ghost. Where had Boon
gotten off to?

Dusk’s ascent on the meadow was accompanied by a surprising
soundtrack: Lelanea gently strumming a worn-out guitar. She brought the thing
out just at sunset, while Dodger was on his hourly perimeter walk. When the
first soft strains met his ears, he wasn’t sure what he was hearing. The music
had a haunting quality to it. It was beautiful, to be sure, yet at the same
time, just as sorrowful as the young lady who produced it.

Then she began to sing.

The first time he heard her speak, Dodger supposed her voice
was already just about the most beautiful sound he would ever hear in all of
his waking life. Well, he was wrong. Lelanea’s song rang out in the clear
night, lifted by the rhythms of her own playing, until the two melted in an
angelic harmony. Dodger abandoned his watch and returned to the campsite,
captivated into silence by the tune.

Captivated and enchanted.

It was at that point, to the tune of her beautiful song,
that he finally allowed himself to admit—if only to himself—that he was indeed
in love with her. Everything about her was wonderful. Beauty, charm, grace and
now this? She sang like an angel, but the devil in her could cut you down with
a single glance. Dodger had truly met his match, and come hell or high water,
he would win her heart!

Speaking of hearts, it seemed only natural that her song
would be one of a broken heart. It was the sad tale of a wealthy young girl who
fell for a gypsy and forsook her own family to win his attentions, only to be
rebuked by the very same man once her fortune ran thin. Eventually, she reached
the last refrain, and the guitar fell as silent as Dodger.

A light applause filled the air as the doc clapped.
“Beautiful as always, dear.”

“Thank you, Uncle,” Lelanea said.

“I had no idea you could play,” Dodger said.

“Did you like it?”

“I loved it. I’ve never heard it sung or played so
beautifully.”

“You recognized it?”

“It’s a variation on the Gypsy Laddie ballad, isn’t it?”

Looking a bit startled, Lelanea nodded but said nothing.

“The what?” the doc asked.

“The Gypsy Laddie ballad. It originated in Scotland, I
believe, as a border ballad from somewhere in the early 1700s. There are many
variations on the theme, though the one Lelanea played tends to be the more …
popular … among them.” Dodger wound his enthusiastic conversation down when he
realized what he was saying.

And that everyone was staring at him, wide eyed and mouths
agape.

“At least that’s what I hear,” Dodger said in a poor attempt
to cover up his exposed intellect.

“My mother was very musical,” Dodger confessed. “She was
fascinated with the origins of the older ballads and folk tunes. I sorta picked
some of it up from her.” And it wasn’t an outright lie. He did pick up the urge
to know more about music from her. Which he went on to apply to his own private
studies.

“Would you play something for us?” Lelanea asked, holding
out the instrument.

“No. I don’t play. Though I have a fondness for music, I
have no talent for it.” And that wasn’t a lie. A renaissance man he might have
been, but a musician he was not.

“My turn,” Ched said, and snapped up the guitar.

Dodger braced himself for the worst. He got something
completely unexpected.

Ched could play.

And whatever it was he played, he played it really, really,
really well. The not-dead man picked out some strange mix between folk music
and carnival melodies. It skipped up and down the frets, crossing back and
forth in quick successions of melodic trills. He tapped his foot the whole
while, and occasionally paused to slap his hand against the body of the guitar,
adding a strong rhythm to the music. Thankfully, the man didn’t sing, and
Dodger wasn’t sure what kind of words one would sing to something like that
anyway. He had never heard anything like it in all of his life. It was gloomy
but joyful, satisfied but hungry, bitter but sweet, all at the same time. After
a ten-minute run of this, Ched struck his last chord, letting it fade under a
soft rhythm of slapping and foot tapping, until he was done.

Everyone applauded.

“Feng’s been teaching you again, I see,” the doc said.

“Yup,” Ched agreed. “Shaid it was shomthing called the
bluesh.”

“Blues? Huh, what an odd name. Didn’t sound blue. Sounded
more mauve, if you ask me.”

“I thought it sounded wonderful,” Lelanea said.

“It was terrible,” Mr. Torque said.

“Torque!” the doc exclaimed. The bed-ridden man leaped from
his cot in excitement, much to the dismay of his niece.

“Get back in the bed,” Lelanea demanded.

The doc ignored her and hobbled over to the mechanical
butler, throwing his arms around the clockwork man. “Ah, Mr. Torque! It’s so
good to see you.”

Mr. Torque looked confused by the display of affection. “I …
I … I wish I could say the same, sir.” There was a tone to his voice as if he
wanted to say something different, but couldn’t bring himself to. He lifted a
metal hand and gently patted the doc’s back.

Dodger wondered if, underneath the stern exterior of snide
remarks, the clockwork man was a touch sentimental after all.

The doc parted from the machine, taking a few steps away.
“What news do you have about my train?”

“She is vented and clean,” Torque said.

A shared sigh of relief went around the crew at the news.

“Excellent!” the doc shouted. “We shall have to remain until
the morning, of course. Our Feng should be back by then. If not, we can leave
him a message and let him catch up with us. I also suppose that means we can
return to the line tonight. If anyone wants to do so.”

The crew looked to one another, waiting for a response.

“Anyone want to go back tonight?” the doc asked.

The answer was obvious.

“I agree,” the doc said. “I am having a great deal of fun
with this outdoor nonsense. Besides, we’re already set up for the evening.
Might as well finish the deed. Yes?”

No one argued.

The doc rubbed his hands together. “Right, then. You should
get back to the line, Torque. I don’t want your reserves to run low.”

“Torque! Saying ‘sir’ doesn’t excuse a rude attitude. Now,
get back to the line or I’ll drag you back myself.”

“As if you could.”

Ched began to strum the guitar just under their arguing
while a chuckling Lelanea cleared up the empty chicken-soup cans. Dodger could
do nothing but watch and laugh under his breath. The pair argued for a bit,
with the doc winning in the end. (This was after the professor pointed out that
the mechanical man’s ‘low voltage’ warning light was indeed lit.) As the
mechanical butler scurried back to the line, in fear for his precious reserve
power, the doc retired to his tent, exhausted by the exchange. He was asleep in
moments, his guttural snore drowning out Ched’s playing.

“Show much for pickin’,” Ched said, setting the guitar
aside. “Getting late anyway. I think I might take a poke around the line a bit.
Make sure we didn’t throw a gear or pop a gasket. Night all.”

The driver loped off into the darkness, leaving Dodger and
Lelanea alone. Dodger did his best to ignore this fact. After the intimate
discussion they had held two nights ago, he wasn’t sure he was ready to try
small talk again with her. Especially now that he had confessed his feelings
for her to himself. Lelanea, on the other hand, seemed unperturbed by being
left alone in his company. She came to Dodger’s side, offering him a familiar
glass vial.